


A Long Time Coming

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Body Worship, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Butt Slapping, Chastity Device, Cock Bondage, Cock Cages, Cock Worship, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Fucking, Gangbang, Kinkmas, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Penises, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sexual Fantasy, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: Kinkmas 2017: Maine is the biggest tease and Wash has been locked up for days waiting for his release. It's driving him a little crazy.





	A Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pippen2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/gifts).



> Some of this fic includes fantasies that Wash has of things that do not happen for real.
> 
> Things that only happen in the fantasies: Gangbang, voyeurism/exhibitionism, multiple partners
> 
> The rest of it happens consensually between Maine and Wash

Maine tosses him the box that morning. It lands on his chest, startling Wash to full wakefulness. He gropes for it and peers blearily at it for a moment.

“Open it,” Maine snorts when Wash seems like he’s having trouble figuring out what to do. 

“Right.” He pushes himself up into a sitting position and opens the cardboard to look inside. A shover works it’s way down his spine and his ass clenches at the sight of the thick black plug inside the box. It’s got to be a couple of inches wide, the base flared, and he can already imagine the stretch that he’ll feel when he puts it in. He squirms on the bed and glances up at Maine, tongue flicking out over his lips. 

“Tonight,” Maine says, promise and threat, and it knocks the air out of Wash’s lungs. “Get ready,” Maine adds, jerking his head towards the clock on the bedside table. Time to get up if they want to catch breakfast in the mess before everything decent is gone. 

Wash goes through the motions, mind preoccupied by the thought of the toy that’s still in its box on his bed. He has to press his face against the cool tile of the shower to keep from burning up. His hand drags downwards to wrap around his cock only to be met with metal. He lets out a soft curse and rubs ineffectually at the cock cage as though that will somehow get it to vanish. It remains infuriatingly solid and he can’t feel a thing through it. The lock is keyed to Maine and won’t come off until Maine wants to take it off.

It’s the fucking hottest thing Wash has ever experienced and it makes heat pool in his belly just thinking about it. Of course there’s nowhere for it to go; no chance of a quick wank in the shower when he can’t really get hard, but the heat settles inside him anyway, the unmistakeable curl of arousal. Tonight. Less than twenty-four hours and maybe he’ll get to come. Hopefully it’ll be a bit more satisfying than rutting against the shower wall and his own hand.

He drags himself back into the room he shares with Maine. The other man is naked after his own shower and utterly unconcerned by it. Wash’s gaze flicks over him hungrily; broad shoulders, toned abs, arms to die for, and then goes lower. Legs like goddam tree trunks, a wait that Wash wants to wrap his legs around, and that fucking glorious cock. So he’s a bit of a slut when it comes to size. No court would convict him if they could see Agent Maine’s dick. 

Maine catches him staring, raises an eyebrow and Wash lowers his gaze, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Outside the room is one thing. You better bet he’ll fight Maine or any other Freelancer for the last bit of fresh fruit or muffin. In here… 

Maine gestures towards the bed and Wash moves without hesitation to bend over it, arms braced. It leaves his ass in the air, exposed, and there’s no warning when Maine’s hands come to rest against it, squeezing firmly. He wants to worship Maine’s hands almost as much as he wants to worship his cock. They’re large and rough and Wash has seen him dismantle and reassemble a rifle with a dexterity that makes his knees go weak. 

One of those hands presses between his legs, fondles his balls and strokes just at the edge of the cock cage. 

“Good?” Maine murmurs with genuine concern, and Wash nods quickly.

“So good. Better than good,” he blurts out. Maine laughs softly, breath brushing against Wash’s ear.

The hand moves back to press between the cheeks of his ass, teasing at the plug that’s already inside him. There’s a twist and then Maine drags the thing out of him. Wash gasps an tenses up, feeling empty now that it’s out, when he’s been wearing it pretty much constantly for a few days, stretching himself out so he’s ready. It’s just been fingers so far, or a couple of toys, but he loves the thought that Maine could grab him at any moment and slide inside, fuck him hard on the bed or in the shower, or hell, on the training room floor while the others watch.

He never will. Imagining being watched like that is more fun than actually being watched would be and he doesn’t want to get kicked out of the Project, but the thought of them watching, oh yeah, that’s a turn on and a half. 

Maine’s fingers slide into him, and Wash clenches around them. He rocks against them without even thinking, seeking sensation greedily. Maine chuckles darkly, smacks his ass hard enough for him to feel it.

“Slut,” he says, and Wash whines.

Something hard and blunt presses against his hole. He’s used to it by now, enough to recognise a butt plug. The new one and fuck, it’s large. Seems huge in comparison to the last one as it’s pushed inside him, stretching him wide, just this side of painful. It takes his breath away and is this how it’s gonna feel when Maine finally fucks him? No, he thinks that’s probably going to be better.

It finally settles all the way inside him, filling him to the point where he’s not even sure how he’s going to walk without it being obvious. Maine tease him for a few moments, twisting it and dragging it out just to thrust it back into him until he can barely think from the case of arousal. His cock should be rock hard by now, but of course the cage is still on so there’s nowhere for the heat to go, just frustration.

There’s a last proprietary slap to his ass, and Maine’s other hand settling against the back of his neck for a moment for a much more gentle squeeze, and then Maine moves away. Wash stands there for a moment until Maine makes a soft noise to coax him to stand up. Just standing straight makes the plug shift in his ass. He has to take a breath that shudders right through him. 

And then he catches sight of the time again and a soft curse escapes him. 

Maine laughs, a soft huff of breath, and it’s alright for him. He’s already pulling on the bodysuit and even with the time, Wash takes a moment to stare and enjoy the way to material fits to his body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Unfortunately, Wash’s also leaves nothing to the imagination. Once it’s sealed up to his throat, he swears he can feel it pushing the plug further into him with every movement, that it’s rubbing against his cock even through the metal. Maine watching him intently, a hungry look on his face, doesn’t change that feeling any.

You’d think that the armour would help. It definitely covers up more than the bodysuit, and the codpiece at least covers up the cage. And yet, as they walk into the mess, Wash is sure that the others can see everything. He’s hyper aware of it, of the shifting plug in his ass working him loose with every step, the pulse of arousal with nowhere to go. And always, always, the cage encasing his cock.

He isn’t sure how he survives the day. Normally, the time would fly, filled with training exercises and time in the weight room and whatever drills he’d been assigned that day, all of it too exhausting to let him focus on anything else.

Today? Today all he can think about is his cock and how desperately he needs the cage to come off. How excited he is for the moment when Maine removes it and lets him free and fucking touches him, wraps a hand around his dick, slides that perfect cock into his ass and uses him like he deserves to be used.

It’s no wonder that York gets in a couple of hits while they’re sparring and Wash is fairly sure he doesn’t believe the excuses that he slept badly, but he sure as fuck isn’t going to explain to him that he’s just a bit distracted because Maine’s kept him locked up for days now and his body has reacted by making sex the focus of his every thought. Every brush against him, the mostly friendly arms slung around his shoulders, and dear god, the times when he gets pinned to the mat send it into overdrive until he can’t help but imagine what it would be like if one of them shoved him down and pulled his armour off piece by piece until he’s exposed and they can all see.

They’ll drag down the bodysuit, shove it right down to hobble his legs. One of them, maybe North, will pull the plug out of his ass, while someone else, maybe York, maybe Carolina or Connie or all of them, hell why not he’s already so turned on he can barely think, take turns using his mouth and he eagerly responds. Maybe they play with his ass, see how many fingers he can take. Maybe they’ll fuck him there on the training room floor until he begs for release.

And none of them, not one of them, will be able to make him hard. None of them can even touch his cock. That’s Maine’s, and his alone. He’s the only one who gets to decide if Wash is allowed to get hard, if he gets to come or if he’s going to be left locked up and desperate once more.

The thought hits him like a punch to the chest, makes him clench his thighs together to try to get some sort of relief. It doesn’t work. If it did, this wouldn’t be half as maddening. Or half as fun.

Finally dinner comes. Wash is ready to skip it and drag himself back to his and Maine’s quarters where he will fall on his knees and beg Maine to fuck him. 

Except that Maine has already taken his helmet off and is heading to the mess hall. He smiles at Wash, the bastard, and that’s not unusual except he knows what Wash is going through. And all that Wash can do right now is follow after him, feeling the plug shift with every step all the way to the mess. 

Wash bolts down his food in record time. Even the fresh fruit and dessert is barely tasted. Maine, who normally eats just as quickly, is taking his time. He’s not even started dessert, and seems engrossed in listening to York and Connie and South discuss something that Wash had tuned out ages ago and now he knows that Maine is doing it on purpose. 

Y’know, if the hand that keeps dropping to his lap wasn’t enough to tip him off. He’s still got his armour on, but there’s no mistaking the way Maine’s hand rests against the codpiece, or rubs along his thigh, as anything but a deliberate attempt to murder him. 

As the time wears on, and the others drift away, Maine stays, finishing off his food, and Wash stays with him, sitting stiffly on the bench and trying not to move too much.

Eventually, finally, Maine finishes up and he rests a large hand against the back of Wash’s neck, thumb rubbing against the nape. 

“How you feeling?” 

Wash gives him a look which is obviously hysterically funny because Maine lets out a soft breath of laughter and then hauls him up to his feet. 

“Room,” is the only word he says. It’s the only word he needs to say because Wash has been ready to head back there for the past hour at least. 

Maine walks quickly, and normally Wash wouldn’t have too much trouble keeping up, but today he struggles with it because every movement reminds him of the metal around his cock, of the plug in his ass and how large it is, how wide he feels around it, how it nudges inside of him with every. fucking. step.

The room suddenly seems to be an impossible distance. He slows down, tries to subtly rearrange his junk to fit more comfortably. That’s not easy to do in armour. Maine turns around though, and next thing Wash knows, Maine has a hand at the small of his back and is pushing him forward, up ahead.

He gives Maine a questioning look.

“Your ass,” Maine says. Wash can hear the grin in his voice. 

“I’m wearing armour,” Wash says. A smile tugs at his lips through the exasperation. 

“Still a good ass,” Maine confirms, and gestures for him to keep walking. 

“Well I’m glad you approve.” Wash hopes he gets a good view because he keeps Wash in front of him the whole way back to their bunk.

It’s only once the door is locked behind them that Maine seems to lose even an ounce of composure. He grabs Wash before he can remove a single piece of armour, hand curling against his jaw to pull him into a bruising kiss. 

Wash plasters himself against Maine’s body as they kiss, Maine’s tongue fucking his mouth. Wash wants to drag the armour off him piece by piece, wants to expose his body inch by inch as he drags the bodysuit down, and run his tongue over those gorgeous muscles. Everything in his head is screaming for Maine.

“Strip,” Maine says.

Maine sits down on the bed, slowly starting to unlatch the armour, while Wash hurries to comply, stripping off the armour in record time. Maine’s eyes are fixed on him, watching as he unseals the bodysuit and pulls it down slowly. Maine smirks at the sight of the cock cage, and reaches down to run a finger over the metal, then lifting it to touch his balls, stroking them until Wash is left gasping.

“Looks good on you,” Maine says. Wash feels the flush creeping up his neck. The way Maine says it, it sounds less like a compliment and more like a promise… or a threat and Wash’s mind goes wild for a moment thinking about that; Maine keeping him locked up like that permanently, dragging Wash down to use his ass or his mouth whenever he feels like it, only letting him come when Maine thinks he deserves it. The thought is intoxicating, Maine training him up to serve his desires, and that just makes the arousal worse. In reality they’re partners, equals, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, but in his head? Right now he wants nothing more than to be Maine’s personal fucktoy.

A hand on his hip reels him in closer, Maine meeting his gaze sternly. “Okay?” he asks, and Wash loves him for it. He knows if he said it, that Maine would have him out of the thing in a second and be checking him over to make sure that he was okay.

Wash rests his hand over Maine’s, squeezing it gently. “I’m fine. I mean, horny as fuck, but good.”

Maine scrutinises his face for a moment, checking to see if he’s just trying to be a macho idiot, before he finally nods.

“Knees,” Maine says, his hands resting heavily on Wash’s shoulders, pushing down. Wash goes, sinking down as quickly as he can without bruising his shins; the floors in the bunk rooms are hard metal and not at all comfortable. 

Maine leaves him there on the floor facing the bed, and Wash can hear him rummaging around in the closet. he has a box in there, Wash has seen it. He’s never asked how Maine manages to get that sort of stuff on the ship, he just knows that things are going to be exciting when Maine dips into it.

He feels every rasp of his breath as he kneels there. He can feel the cold from the metal seeping into his skin and gradually warming up. He can feel how sticky his skin is from the sweat of the day. He can feel the plug shift with every movement, and the metal cage against his cock, feeling uncomfortably tight now, bordering on painful as his cock tries to harden only to be restricted. 

Maine’s footsteps sound behind him, deliberately exaggerated because he can move near silently when he wants to. Hands close around Wash’s wrists and his arms are drawn together at the small of his back, crossed over each other, wrist to elbow. There’s the soft brush of silky rope and a tug as Maine begins to bind his arms together. He’s pretty deft with rope, always careful not to make it too tight, and somehow he finds the softest rope that Wash has ever encountered.

The rope doesn’t give when he tugs at the bindings, and something in him settles, a knot of tension that he’d been ignoring easing apart. He’s tied up, helpless, and right here, right now, he doesn’t have to do anything except what Maine tells him to. He’d never thought helplessness would be so freeing.

There’s a careful stroke along the length of his arm and then Maine settles back on the bed in front of him, legs spread wide around him. He’s still wearing the bottom of his armour but the codpiece is right there in front of him. 

Maine must see where Wash’s gaze inevitably ends fixed. His fingers comb through Wash’s hair. “Want it?” He nods, throat bobbing. Maine gives a rumbling chuckle. “Prove it.”

Wash gives him a questioning look. is the fact that he’s here, on his knees, one wrong move to rutting against the ground, not enough to prove it?

But Maine splays his hands against his thighs either side of the codpiece and oh… _oh_. That is… not something he’d ever considered.

The first sensation when his tongue touches the metal of the codpiece is cold. The undersuit is meant to regulate body temperature, and the armour doesn’t warm up because of that. It’s slicker than he expected, and there’s a faint underlying bitter taste along with a hint of sweat. He licks a stripe all the way along the codpiece and curls his tongue against the bottom of it, closest to where he can feel the bulge of Maine’s dick.

There’s nothing really satisfying about it; no taste really, no heat, no feeling Maine unwind beneath him. Nothing satisfying except… except Maine is staring down at him, eyes dark with lust and want and he knows that Wash is still locked up and suddenly it’s an act of worship, a way of proving himself, proving that he deserves to have Maine’s cock, Maine’s hands on his body, Maine’s lips against his.

He keeps working at it, sucking at the metal, trying to take as much into his mouth as he can, laving his tongue against it until it’s slick with spit, right up until Maine drags his head back and crushes their lips together in a heated kiss. That’s much more satisfying. Maine’s fingers in his hair, holding him still, tongue pressing into his mouth, the scent of him much more prominent. it leaves Wash breathless.

Even more breathless when Maine sheds the rest of his armour, exposing the strong thighs and calves and his partly-hard cock jutting out from dark curls. Wash’s mouth goes dry, and he licks his lips, his own cock trying to harden, pressing against the metal around it, like it’s holding him tightly, squeezing him. It’s a deep ache which brushes against the edge of pain, but doesn't quite cross it.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what Maine expects from him when he sits back down, now gloriously naked and spread out in front of Wash like a fucking banquet. He leans in again, and this time it’s warm skin and the scent of sweat and sex that greets him rather than impersonal metal. He kisses the tip reverently and starts to work his way down, interspersing kisses with swipes of his tongue. He’s large, Wash already knows that, but it’s up close like this that he gets the real sense of it, when he closes his lips around the head and starts to suck, tasting pre-come. 

Maine groans, and Wash wonders whether he’s been worked up too, all that time spent waiting while he trains Wash’s hole to take him, knowing that he’s been walking around locked up and desperate and able to do nothing except wait for Maine to let him out.

He takes more of Maine’s cock into his mouth, sucking on it and feeling it swell inside his mouth. Wash takes as much as he can, sliding down until it almost touches the back of his throat, makes his jaw ache, fills him up, the little rolls of his hips threatening to choke him. Filled from both ends, ready and waiting and Wash’s hips jerk, desperately seeking stimulation that he’s not going to get. Maine could tell him that all he was going to get was the floor to grind against and he’s still pretty sure he’d come in a minute.

But that’s not what’s going to happen. Maine drags him away and off his cock, holds him there, his mouth open and drool on his lips.

“Bed,” Maine says. It’s all he needs to say. Wash scrambles to obey. It’s harder with his arms tied behind him, but he manages. Ends up on his stomach, face pressed against the pillow. There’s a thrum of excitement that runs right through him, eagerness to see this through to the end. Maine’s gonna fuck him. Maine is going to fuck him hard and Wash is going to feel that perfect huge cock fill him up.

His hips jerk against the bed convulsively, but all he can feel is the tightness of the metal around his cock and how heavy his balls are, and a noise that’s almost a sob escapes him. It’s overwhelming now, the anticipation, the need. Maine’s hand strokes down the length of his spine to rest on his ass, and then even the minor relief of the bed is taken from hm when Maine’s hands curl against his thighs and pull his hips up. Wash spreads his legs wide, exposing himself shamelessly, the plug and the cock cage and how much he needs Maine right now.

He sucks in a deep breath, then another and then there’s a hand holding his balls, squeezing them, while Maine’s other hand drags the plug out of his ass slowly. So fucking slow and every time he tries to rub against Maine’s hand, try to get a little bit of relief, Maine stops and shoves the plug all of the way back into him hard enough to rock him forward. He keeps doing it, every time Wash’s hips so much as stutter forward, until Wash finally manages to keep himself still long enough for the plug to slide free leaving him feeling loose and empty enough that he’s pretty sure he could take three of Maine’s cock at the same time and still not having it be enough.

The bed shifts and drops with the weight of Maine settling behind him. Wash’s breath catches in his throat. This is it. Maine’s gonna fuck him. He whines against the pillow, trying to force himself to stay still when what he really wants is to fuck himself against Maine’s dick right now.

“Want to hear you,” Maine says. For a quiet guy, he fucking loves making Wash as loud as possible, and it’s a floodgate has been opened. 

“Maine, please. need you to fuck me. Need you so hard think I’m gonna die if you don’t.” He’s babbling, mindless words, every thought in his head. “Thought about you all fucking day. Wanted you to ram me in the training room in front of everyone. Just you. Let me out, please Maine.”

The words are cut off abruptly when he feels the blunt head of Maine’s cock pressing against his hole. Maine rubs against him for a moment, hot and heavy. And then Maine starts to press inside. No butt plug in the world could have prepared him. Maine is big and hotter than impersonal silicon, and inexorable as he pushes further and further into Wash’s hole, stretching him wide. He presses his face against the pillow again and bites down, breath coming in sharp little pants. Fuck, should have gone bigger with the plug. Should have spent more time having Maine play with them, getting him used to the feeling. Should have done this a long time ago because he thinks he’s going to burst and he wants that. He wants Maine to wreck him. 

Once Maine is fully inside him, he waits there. Wash can feel him nudging at his prostate. Wash can hardly breathe. When Maine finally moves he howls against the pillow. He’s so full, Maine is so big inside him and it feels like he hits that cluster of nerves with every thrust. Each one rocks Wash forward on the bed and can imagine that he’s gonna have perfect handprint bruises on his hips with the way that Maine is holding him. He hopes so anyway.

The cage feels impossibly tight around his cock, the metal scalding hot, all that pressure and heat pooling in his stomach and balls with nowhere to go. Maine fucking him hard and it blots out every other thought in his head; it’s all dark and glowing, settling around his minding a haze of need. 

His attention is dragged sharply back into focus when Maine’s hand closes around his cock. He can feel him fumbling with the thumbprint reader and then… oh god, his mind whites out for a moment when the cage falls away and all that pent up heat and frustration and every filthy thought seems to flood into his cock and he is so painfully hard so quickly that his brain does a metaphorical blue screen of death, stutters and shudders to a glitching halt.

Maine is still fucking him. Harder now, like Wash being released as loosened all of his restraint and there’s no hand on his cock, nothing touching him, he’s just hard and aching between his legs, harder than he thinks he’s ever been and he can’t breathe, can’t move except where Maine’s thrusts send him forward, can feel pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. 

Maine plasters against his back, a weight meant to drown him. his thrusts are getting erratic now, he feels as hard as Wash does. Wash’s hips buck against him, trying to grind back against the main inside of him. He just needs… needs more, just a little more, that one thing to push him over the edge.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Maine rumbles against his ear, and that’s it, that’s all he can take. He’s coming hard, spilling out over the bedsheets with a shriek of pleasure that the whole ship can probably hear, his hips pumping uselessly, thighs tense. It feels like it lasts forever, his body helpless in the throes of his orgasm, ripping away any semblance of composure or tension.

And Maine hadn’t ever laid a finger on his cock.

Everything is fuzz and warmth and comforting darkness. He’s vaguely aware of a shift in position and of his arms being untied. Maine is still inside him, rocking against his body. The thought makes him laugh softly in his mind. He really is a fucktoy right now.   
When he comes back to himself, the process rather like trying to swim to the surface of a pool of syrup where time has become a much more nebulous thing, he’s sitting in Maine’s lap, cradled against the man’s broad chest. His arms are loose at his sides, and aching a little from being tied. Maine’s cock is still inside him, albeit starting to soften, and is probably the only thing prevent come from leaving out of his abused hole. He shifts a little, enjoying the feeling of Maine still in his body, connecting them. T

Maine snorts a soft laugh and strokes fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck and spine, one long, smooth movement that Wash arches into. 

“Insatiable,” Maine grumbles. He curls his fingers into Wash’s short hair and drags his head back to peer into his face. “You okay?”

Wash feels a rush of affection towards him for that. He gives a dopey smile, exhausted and wrung out but genuine. “Fucking awesome.”

Maine laughs again and presses a kiss against his forehead, then his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Good?”

Wash nods quickly enough to make himself dizzy. “Yes. Oh my god that was… that was really good.” It is painfully, ridiculously inadequate to describe how he feels, how the whole experience had felt. Maine seems to get the idea and cradles him closer against his chest until he’s feeling a bit more coherent.

There’s snacks and water. Maine feeds him bites of granola bar and chocolate between sips of water, and only when Wash can answer a few questions without resorting to helpless rambling, does Maine lay them both down and pull out of Wash. He’s right, that was the only thing saving him from the weird sticky feeling of come sliding out of him. Maybe he should have asked Maine to stuff the plug back in his hole.

He feels horribly empty, a discomfort that he knows will go away, but right now kind of sucks. It’s compounded by the fact that the cock cage is right in his line of sight and he can remember the feeling of is squeezing his cock, making every movement and thought so much more vivid. 

Maine dabs a wet washcloth between his legs, cleaning away the worst of the stickiness. He still needs a shower, but at least he’s not going to be glued to the sheets come morning. He reaches out, fumbling for the cock cage and feels Maine pause. There’s enough question in just that for Wash to know that Maine has seen him.

“Hey Maine,” he says. There’s a grunt of acknowledgement. “Can you put this back on?”

He can practically hear Maine roll his eyes, but there’s a kiss against the top of his head. 

“Tomorrow. Shower first.”

Wash hums softly and buries his face against the pillow once more, a humming contentment in his veins when Maine settles down behind him, holding him close, like the best blanket in the world.


End file.
